'MaXXXine' Review: A Weak Thriller That Doesn't Deserve Mia Goth

Say hello to Maxine Minx (Mia Goth), the antiheroine of Ti West’s “MaXXXine,” the third installment in her rushed “X” trilogy. When we last saw Maxine, in 2022’s “X,” she was speeding away from a porn star massacre in Texas in the late 1970s, leaving a trail of bloody carnage in her wake. Now it’s six years later, in 1985 Los Angeles, and Maxine, a working star and erotica performer, is determined to transcend her vulgar, traumatic origins to become a capital-S Star of the big screen, no matter what the cost.

Maxine won't let anything stand in her way of success after landing her first horror movie role in the sequel to “The Puritan II.” It's her big break and nothing will stop her: no slaughtered friends, no “Night Stalker” terrorizing the city, no pesky LAPD detectives and no pesky private eye (Kevin Bacon) hot on her tail. Maxine, as she often repeats to herself like a mantra, will not accept a life she doesn't deserve, and don't forget that.

Like “X” and its prequel “Pearl,” “MaXXXine” offers writer-director-editor West a chance to play with genre. If “X” was a grimy horror film and “Pearl” was a Technicolor melodrama with axe murders, “MaXXXine” dresses itself in the skin of a sexy, seedy 1980s erotic thriller. But that turns out to be just its aesthetic: There’s no eroticism or thrills here, just a pretty costume.

All the visual and aural signifiers are there: a great soundtrack of period-appropriate songs (including ZZ Top and Ratt), meticulous production and costume design that recreates 1980s Hollywood, plenty of stylistic nods to leather-glove Italian giallo films and the filmography of Brian De Palma. But West doesn't use these references with any intention, and in fact, there are too many of them. The film is too clever, but it's not even that clever.

West hits us over the head with gestures that recall film history (a Buster Keaton impersonator threatens Maxine in an alley; Bacon, dressed as a “Chinatown” drag queen, chases her through a studio and up the stairs of the “Psycho” house), but none of these winks have any meaning. They’re simply increasingly hard jabs in the ribs. When Maxine stomps on Buster’s genitals, it becomes clear that the whole thing is a cheap joke, a cinematic pun designed for film nerds but played out without a shred of suspense or tension.

And what of the murder mystery? The Night Stalker murders echo in the background, without context, something you hear on the evening news. Maxine’s colleagues turn up dead, carved with Satanic symbols, but like those she left behind in Texas, their deaths are seemingly mere obstacles in her path to success. It’s not entirely clear why she views the LAPD detectives (Michelle Monaghan and Bobby Cannavale) with hostility, except that they’re making her late for her first day on the set of “The Puritan II,” where icy British director Elizabeth Bender (Elizabeth Debicki) delivers Maxine wordy but ultimately meaningless monologues on the philosophy of art and industry.

Like these talky speeches, West fills “MaXXXine” with familiar quotes, images and platitudes that hint at “Hollywood commentary,” but there is no real commentary. He manages to say nothing at all and is unwilling to accuse his female protagonist, thereby undermining her power. The ruthless, ambitious Maxine is far more interesting when we conceive of her as the villain of this story, not its savior. West indicates her true nature with an opening quote from Bette Davis: “In this business, until you’re known as a monster, you’re not a star.” But he constantly wavers on that premise, depriving Maxine—already “MaXXXine”—of any real bite.

Only Goth truly understands her character, as she understood Pearl (whom she played as both an aging assassin and a young assassin-in-waiting), and plays the coal-hearted porn star like the fierce, determined fighter she is. When Maxine is bad, Goth is very good; unfortunately, West never lets go. Goth holds “MaXXXine” together through the sheer force of her charisma, despite the uneven plot, an underdeveloped character, and the slow, perfunctory deaths that arrive like clockwork.

It’s disappointing, because “X” was a fascinating piece about finding one’s desire and self-actualization through filmmaking. It was smart and clever, and there was a lot of potential in this thesis, which was explored further on a character level in “Pearl” and could have been developed in “MaXXXine” through the idea of ​​voyeurism in the erotic thriller. But it all becomes hopelessly muddled.

Ultimately, “MaXXXine” is a lot like the set she is chased through on the studio backlot: a beautiful facade that is empty behind the walls: all surface, meaningless symbols and not a shred of substance.

Walsh is a film critic for the Tribune News Service.